


Badges Of Honour

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Slash, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-30
Updated: 2007-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Harry suffered badly in the Final Battle, but Draco isn’t prepared to let him waste away. And what a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Title** \- Badges of Honour  
 **Author** \- SoftlySweetly  
 **Beta** \- Genlisae; Thank you Sweets!  
 **Rating** \- PG13  
 **Word Count** \- 1712  
 **Characters/Pairings** \- Harry/Draco  
 **Challenge/Prompt** \- For the LJ hd_hurtcomfort community - Challenge #1, Prompt #2 _“What do you mean, ‘it’s not going to work’?”_  
 **Warnings** \- None really. One strong swear word, that's it.  
 **Disclaimer** \- I own nothing but the plot   
**Summary** \- Harry suffered badly in the Final Battle, but Draco isn’t prepared to let him waste away. And what a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets  
 **Author's Notes** \- My first specific hurt/comfort fic. 

 

Harry tipped his head back and drained the last of his coffee. Draco had been here for a week now, and Harry hadn't cracked yet. He stood up and moved slowly, not wanting to bang into any furniture in the dimly lit room. The light of the kitchen was always painful for the first few seconds, and he screwed his face up until he could acclimatise. 

Harry headed to the kettle and flicked the switch, pouring a hefty pile of instant granules into his dirty cup and leaning on the counter to wait. He heard Draco walk into the kitchen and sighed loudly. Deciding that six days was quite long enough, he broke his silence. "It's not going to work."

Draco was surprised by the sound of Harry's voice. The brunette had been silent ever since he'd shouted Draco out for coming over. "What do you mean, _it's not going to work_?"

"You, waiting around for me to crack. I'm happy, Draco."

"Liar."

"Pardon me?"

Draco rolled his eyes and stepped forward, resting a hand on Harry's arm and hiding his pain when the brunette flinched away. "You're not happy. I may have wasted six years of time at school, but I know you well enough by now to know that you are _not_ happy. You're about as far from happy as you can get. Harry, the Final Battle was hard on everyone, and you need to snap out of it and start living again."

Harry stayed silent; keeping his face averted as he turned to the boiled kettle and poured the water into his cup. He was so busy keeping his face hidden from Draco he wasn't paying enough attention to the task in hand, and he spilt boiling water over his right hand. "OwfuckingOWWWW!"

Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed Harry's hand, muttering a cooling charm and a healing charm. The skin immediately lost its reddish burn, but Draco didn't let go of Harry's hand. It was a close call as to what Harry would do; the brunette wasn't known for his level temper after all, but all the fight seemed to have left him. It wasn't fair to see a twenty-four year-old man looking so broken, and it strengthened Draco's resolve to stay in this dimly-lit hell-hole until Harry saw sense.

Harry sighed and turned to fully face Draco, his eye looking for any sign of revulsion or horror, but not finding any on Draco's face. But still, Harry knew it must be in there, well hidden. He'd covered all the reflective surfaces in the house for a damn good reason. "Please, Draco. Just leave Hermione's mercy mission, and me, alone. I may not be happy, but I'm managing. The Wizarding World wants to forget all about their scarred hero, and I'm happy to help them."

Draco reached a hand up, caressing Harry's smooth right cheek with the back of his hand. He moved to cup the scarred left cheek, hating the look of fear and sorrow that filled Harry's remaining eye, and shook his head at Harry. "I didn’t come for any reason other than that I miss you. And I'm not leaving until you start living again."

Draco stepped back and headed into the living room. He might not be there on Hermione's orders, but he'd damn well sought her advice before coming, and knew that Harry had to ask for help; he wouldn't take it any other way. 

Harry had been victorious against Voldemort, but it came at a cost. The Healers didn’t know whether his magic would ever return, and a burning hex had mutilated the left side of his body. He'd lost his left eye, and a mess of scars crossed over his cheek. Draco knew that Harry's left arm and leg were almost completely scar tissue, and that a web of spidery scar lines flushed out across his chest. There were potions that could lessen the scars, but never remove them completely. The Wizarding World didn't really want a hero that didn’t look good at photo calls, but Draco found he wasn't angry at them. They'd always been fickle.

No, he was angry at Harry; angry at the Gryffindor for being prepared to just give up. Angry that the loss of contact didn't seem to be affecting Harry like it was affecting Draco. Just angry, and after six months spent watching Harry shrink into himself after the Final Battle, he'd had enough; hence the showing up at Harry's apartment and setting up camp. Draco may have been a Slytherin, but he could slog away at a problem against all reasonable odds like the best of Hufflepuffs. 

Draco was pulled from his musings as Harry came back into the dark living room. The brunette sat down on the chair and stared at the carpet as he spoke to Draco. "That curse hit me and it hurt so much, then it just went dead. I know that other people have suffered more than me; I know that I'm lucky to have my life, but that doesn't change anything Draco! It doesn’t change the looks of pity people give me, the condescending _sympathy_ that just makes me feel sick! I can't bear to look at myself, so why should anyone else be put through it?"

"I quite like looking at you."

"Don't mollycoddle me. Don't try and boost me up like I'm some sulky five-year-old!"

"The way you're acting I was beginning to wonder. I happen to like looking at you, scarred or not, and I object to you denying me that pleasure."

Harry fixed Draco in his eye and raised his eyebrow. "You even snark aristocratically!"

Draco smiled, tipping his head in acknowledgement to the tease. "Harry, I'm not going until you see that this isn’t the end of the world. There is a cream to minimise scarring. There are glamours…"

"I'm a squib!"

"Temporarily! Your magic will come back."

"You don't know that!"

Draco growled in exasperation and stood up, crossing over to Harry and dropping to his knees in front of the seated brunette. "No, but I believe in it. And even if it doesn't, you'll cope."

"Yeah. I'll just wish for a glamour and one will happen!"

"I'll do it for you."

"That would necessitate you being here morning and evening."

"So?"

Harry looked at Draco in shock, and the blonde went with his gut – in for a sickle, in for a galleon as his mother used to say. "Look, glamours or not, I miss you, okay? And I'm not just going to sit back and watch you waste away into nothingness. It wasn't that long ago that you found me, in that hell-hole of a Death Eater's headquarters, after Voldemort had discovered I wasn't quite my father's son. I was a wreck, but you told me that I should be proud; that I should wear each scar with pride because each scar was a visible sign of what I fought for; that my scars were a badge of honour. And now that you've got some scars too you're hiding away like a damn hypocrite!"

"You can cover your scars. Draco I know you think…"

Draco had had enough. Apparently Harry was not going to ask for help. So Draco only really had one choice; forcing it down his throat. "Okay, you win. You have three options, and I'll respect your decision. I can walk out the door and you can carry on waiting to die, or you can buck up and start living again. Fuck what anyone says, your friends love you and miss you."

Draco sat back on his heels, and didn't flinch away from Harry's gaze, still as piercing with one eye as it was with two. "And option three?"

"What?"

"You said there were three options but you've only given me two."

Draco smirked. "This is option three." Rising up, he leant forward and pressed a firm kiss against Harry's lips. The scarring tainted the very corners of his mouth, but it didn’t matter to Draco. The brunette still tasted as sweet as Draco had imagined, and as he pulled back he swept his tongue over Harry's bottom lip, determined to remember that taste whatever the outcome. Harry looked more than a little stunned, and Draco laughed gently. "Come on Harry; you thought I was here because I'm worried about you? I miss you always being around. I miss covertly perving on you when you bend over and reveal that delectable arse of yours. I've been severely deprived of wank-fodder for six months and it's unfair!"

Harry flushed, trying to dispel the mental image produced by _that_ titbit of information. "I don't need a pity~…"

"It doesn’t matter to me, none of it. All that matters is that for three months I lay in a hospital bed wanting to die, and you came and visited me every day; refusing to listen to me whine and forcing me to get up, get better, get healthy again. We were in the middle of a war and you came every day. And don't you dare tell me that wasn't out of pity for me; poor little Draco beaten by his Daddy and his Master for being a naughty boy. You pitied me, but it was worth it just to spend time with you. And after a while you stopped pitying me. 

You want honesty? Yeah, I pitied you to begin with. But not anymore. I ache seeing you in pain, I cringe when I see you shutting yourself off from me, from all your friends and family, and I miss your smile and your laugh. I feel a lot of things towards you, mostly irritation right this moment, but not pity. Pick you option Harry, because my life went into stasis the same time yours did; I need you to choose just as much as you do."

Harry looked down at Draco and puzzled out his words slowly. As much as he tried to deny it, the blonde wasn't lying. There was a whirlpool of emotions in his eyes, but no pity. Reaching his own scarred and withered hand out to cover Draco's, he forced muscles that had forgotten how to work into a genuine smile. "I quite liked option three."


End file.
